


You know I love you so

by TheWordsInMyHead



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Blame canon for the sadness, F/M, Happy anniversary Olicity, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, missing moment, they killed him not me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:53:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27767821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWordsInMyHead/pseuds/TheWordsInMyHead
Summary: A sky full of stars, a love greater than the freakin universe and a peaceful moment that will never be long enough.
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	You know I love you so

**Author's Note:**

> I swear this was supposed to be happy canon divergent fluff. I don't know what happened. Actually, yeah I do, I started listening to _yellow_ by Coldplay. You can thank them for the title and for the angst.
> 
> This is unedited for now because I just don’t have the will at the moment, but I will come back tomorrow and do it. For now if you could ignore any mistakes you see that would be great.
> 
> Edit:   
> Wow that was a lot of typos. I'm embarrassed. I should not post things at 11:30 at night. Thank you to everyone who has already left kudos, I'm not sure how you were able to stomach reading through.

“Felicity.” 

She lets out a shaky breath, fighting off the impulse to turn around, to cry. Nearly a year later and the rasp of his voice, the particular way he says her name, enunciating each individual syllable, is just as familiar to her as the day he left. She shouldn’t be surprised that he showed up— this place is full of memories with him, from the stars blinking brightly in the sky to the feel of the soft blades of grass caressing her bare feet, which is undoubtedly why her mind chose it tonight. 

This isn’t the happiest they ever were (she reserves that allocation for the brief time they had together with Mia in the cabin), but it was probably the easiest. For those few months traveling together, though, she truly believed that they could have that kind of life. Sitting under the stars with his body wrapped around her to strive off the chill of the early summer night air, she thought that the house in the suburbs they talked about, the dog, and the possibility of more someday could all become a reality. 

The trees around them shake in the wind, and she wraps her own arms tightly around herself, fighting off a shiver even though she has no actual ability to feel cold in this strange dream realm. She hears him shuffle behind her, moving in a way that could almost make her think he was really here with her, but she doesn’t look back; she knows better. 

He's shown up in her dreams before. Right after he left, it was almost a nightly occurrence, but it’s been better lately; she’s been better lately. It's too tempting having him here, so close that she can feel his presence behind her and yet, completely out of reach. If things were different, if she didn’t have Mia and Will, didn’t have a company to run and people counting on her, looking at her to lead with a smile, she’d just stay here with him. 

If there was no one else she cared about in the world, Felicity would give up and live her life in the shadows with whatever version of Oliver she could have, but that’s not the case, so she had to stop before she couldn’t. Once again, she had to say goodbye to the man she loved, she had to give up the feel of his comforting hand resting on her back and the sound of his voice, gentle yet desperate in her ear when they made love. 

She's done a lot of hard things in her life, said goodbye to him more times than she can count, but it never seems to get easier. Still, she did it, and she’s not going to let all that progress slip in a moment of weakness; she’s not going to look regardless of the intensity with which her body begs her. 

“Happy anniversary.” 

Oliver's voice breaks as he says it, almost like he knows he shouldn’t, that it would be cruel to offer her such a greeting, but he says it all the same and enough to break her will. 

When she turns to look at him, the well-practiced smile is ready on her lips. “Yes, it’s just downright jovial.” 

“Felicity,” he says again, his eyes darkening in regretful sorrow, and the smile falls right off her face. She can’t do this. Her eyes squeeze together as she tries to stop tears from leaking out, but the image of him remains behind her closed lids. 

He looks almost the exact same as he did the last time that she saw him, the same sweater pushed up to his elbow, the same hint of a beard; everything is the same except for his eyes. There's something different about them, a new depth to the darkness within blue, vast and enthralling. The look in them haunts her. He looks like someone who has felt the weight of the world on his shoulders and crumpled under it. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers quietly, an apology that she really doesn’t care to hear. “I shouldn’t be here; it’s not fair.” 

_No, it’s not,_ she thinks bitterly, eyes still tightly closed, _none of this is fair._

Bitterness swirls around in her stomach, settling into a familiar concoction that she desperately doesn’t want to feel. It builds and builds, tasting like acid until suddenly, she hears a twig snap and her eyes fly open, bitterness replace with desperation at the sight of his back. “Wait!” 

While he halts whatever retreat he intended to make, his shoulders remain tense in a way that reminds her of a frightened animal ready to bolt at the slightest noise. “I shouldn’t be here,” he repeats, and she has the strange impression that he is talking more to himself than to her, “I told myself that I was going to stop coming.” 

“Then why did you?” she asks when the silence becomes too much; she wasn’t good with quiet before everything, and she’s even more uncomfortable with it now. Those few weeks alone in the cabin were hellish; when even the sound of Mia crying was a welcome interruption to the nothingness. 

He fights within himself. A war which she can only see in the way his fingers twitch and the tenseness of his neck. It continues until he finally turns to look at her. He studies her closely, so intently that she is forced to wonder whether turning back to her was winning the war or losing it. For a moment, she begins to worry that him being here is as hard for him as it is for her, but then a sad smile works its way onto his face. “I missed you.”

“I miss you too,” she tells him with a similarly pained expression. 

“I mean,” he hastens to clarify, taking a step and moving towards her before stopping himself, “I always miss you; the feeling never goes away, but today it was just too much...” he trails off, his eyes going distant before snapping back to her. “How have you been?” 

“Good,” she says the smile coming easier now despite the distance still between them. “Will is acing his classes as always. They are even talking about letting him skip a grade in the fall, and Mia has gone from crawling to running in the blink of an eye, and then, of course, she’s starting to get some actual words now. Really, dada is the extent of it, which is horrible unjust if you ask me—” She cuts off sharply, noticing the tears shining in his eyes and cursing herself. She bites the edge of her lip, unsure of the protocol here, before deciding to push forward as though she didn’t just majorly put her foot in her mouth. “It's going to be a troublesome combination, I tell you; your athleticism mixed with my brain. She's barely a year, and already it’s a challenge some days to keep up with her."

“That’s great,” he tells her, a hint of a smile on his face, “but how are _you_ doing.” 

She gulps back against the onslaught of emotion that hits her with the question. She got the inquiry a lot after the funeral, from their friends, their family, even from strangers, but it’s been a while. People had to move on with their lives, and it’s not like she doesn’t know that they care, she’s sure they do— John makes sure to call her every few days even if all he does is boost on about the twins— it’s was just easier to not think about it any longer, to stop hearing the question and having to lie. 

The lie is on the tip of her tongue again, poised and ready, but then he tilts his head to the side, looking at her with concern that is so achingly familiar, and she finds the truth falling forth instead. “I’m surviving.” 

A pain-filled grimace lights up his face that she feels straight in her soul. She knows she doesn’t look good; even in this dream reality, her cheeks are too shallow, the bags under her eyes too permanent, and the shine to her hair is all but gone (dye can only do so much). She knows the look, she sees it too often, but it still lands differently coming off his face. She's trying, dammit. 

“I never wanted this for you,” he says, guilt filling his frame and making him look a hundred times more like the Oliver she married three years ago, as sad as the thought is. “If I had known how it was all going to work out, I never would have pushed so—” 

“Yes, you damn well better have,” she cuts him off, saying screw it to her preservation instincts and closing the distance between them. The smell of him, pine trees and home, invades her sense, sparks of electricity dance across her skin, and her thoughts stutter to a stop as her mind goes blank. She takes a deep breath, her world suddenly feeling centered again, only continuing when she catches sight of the guilt in his eyes again. “Don’t regret it because I don’t.” 

“I was gone for months, and then I left. We hardly got any—” 

“You don’t think I didn’t know what I was getting into that day with you?” she asks, a thread of indignation in her voice. “Come on, you know I’m smarter than that, Oliver. I had years. Years of knowing who you are and what you’d do. I knew this was a possibility, and I chose to marry you that day anyway. I chose to savor whatever time we had, and I still do.” 

His fingertip traces the air beside her cheek, not quite touching her, as hesitance lingers on his features. She knows that look, knows him, so she can see that he wants to believe her, to accept the forgiveness she is offering him, but can’t bring himself to believe he deserves it. She lets out a fond sigh, comforted in some strange way that he is still so inherently Oliver even in her dreams. 

It’s not her intention with the exhale, but it seems to jolt Oliver out of whatever spiral of self logging he was headed down. He looks into her eyes and she stares back, absorbing every facet of his face in the hope that the memory will last forever. His eyes turn misty as he delicately places his hand against the side of her face, cupping her cheek face in the way he used to all the time. 

She leans into the touch, tired of being strong, tired of trying to pretend that her heart isn’t shattered into two and her soul split in half. Warmth spreads through her, and then that warmth turns into something else entirely. She used to love taking, could spend hours endlessly yammering on, and honestly, she still could, but right now, she wants something more; right now, she’d like the chance to feel alive again even if it’s only for a moment, even if it’s not even real. 

Standing up on her tiptoes, she wraps her arms around his neck in the way she’s longed to since the moment she realized he was standing behind her, crashing her lips against his. He freezes for a second, undoubtedly thinking about sparing her feelings. She presses on though, moving her mouth against him relentlessly while burying her fingers in his hair until finally, he’s not only kissing her back but devouring her. 

His hands skim across her back, slinging up and down and leaving fire in their wake. She follows his lead, leaving one hand in his hair while the other slides down his neck and over his broad shoulders. _God, she’s missed those shoulders_ she had time to think before her thoughts are once again consumed by him. 

A gasp escapes from her when his mouth moves to pepper kisses over her jaw and down her neck. The feel of his beard, sharp and rough against her delicate skin, sends spike after spike of desire through her. She lets out a shuttering moan when he hits a particularly sensitive spot, and suddenly, the feel of his skin through his shirt isn’t enough.

She pulls back slightly; there are too many layers of clothes between them. He shoots her a look of confusion that quickly turns into a smirk when she pulling at the hem of his shirt. Kissing her on the lips one more time, he steps back, ridding himself of the although unnecessary garment in one smooth motion. 

Her mouth starts to water as her eyes take in the newly exposed skin. She loves him: for his passion and dedication, his loyalty, and the way he loves with his entire heart. She’d still feel the exact same way if he was balding and chubby, but she’s not going to lie and say she hasn’t missed the abs. Her eyes roam over them, ogling him in a way that she’s sure is not subtle in the slightest (wife privileges), and the buzzing under her skin grows to a fever pitch. 

When she meets his eyes again, his pupils are blown wide, nearly eclipses the blue, and a look of desperation on his face that makes her bite her lip in anticipation. He lets out a deep groan, closing his eyes as if looking for restraint, and that snaps that band of tension in her. She rips off her own top, the shirt flies off into the distance, but she doesn't take the time to see where it lands.

Their tongues battle for dominance. He undoes the clasp of her bra with ease while she works at the button of his jeans, making him growl more than once when her attention strays from the task at hand, more interested in reacquainting herself with his body than completing her mission. His hips buck into her hand a few times before he wrenches her hand spins them so that her back is pressed against a tree. 

Eyes wide and breathing labored, they watch each other with matching grins on their faces until she shifts against him and they are once again consumed by fire. Somehow their remaining clothes disappear, and then before she can blink, he’s thrusting home. A shudder goes through her, pulling her closer to the edge while simultaneously calming the fire in her veins. 

If she’s blunt, it was mostly desperation fueling their actions up until now, but as he slowly starts to move, she feels a wave of pure love surrounds her, more potent than any strike of lightning between them or burst of fire.   
She rests her forehead against his, clinging to his shoulders and trying to stop the tears from falling down her face. She doesn’t want to cry. Not now. She’ll cry later when she’s alone in her bedroom again with nothing left but the memory of him to hold her tight. Right now, she gives in to the feelings he’s building inside of her. 

“I love you,” he whispers into her ear, and his voice is the final thing she needs to fall over the edge. “I love you and the greatest decision I ever made was marrying you three years ago.” 

There are matching tear tracks on their faces by the time they have come down from the high, but neither of them comments on them. He bushes a thumb across her eye, clearing the wetness from her eyelashes while she takes care of the ones clinging to his jaw. 

Silence settles around then, but it’s comfortable this time. She relaxes against his chest, tucking her shoulder into his neck while he wraps his arms around her. If they had a blanket spread across their legs and a discarded picnic dinner a few feet away, she would almost be able to believe they were five years in the past. 

“Look how brightly the stars shine for you,” he says softly into her hair, and in spite of herself, she feels the same bashful grin lighting up her face. 

“That line wasn’t any good back then, and it’s even worse now,” she tells him, the memory of then mixing with the present. _Weren’t you a billionaire playboy? You have to have better lines than that._

“And it’s even more true now,” he counters with the same grin. “Trust me, I’m the one who’s responsible for putting them there.” 

“Of course, you are,” she indulges him with a huff of laughter that quickly morphs into a yawn. Dread pools in her stomach. No, not yet. They haven’t had enough time. 

“You should sleep.” 

“No!” Felicity protests, even as her eyes start to close of their own volition. “We haven’t had enough time— I just got you back.” 

Oliver presses a soft kiss into her hair. “I’m always there, Felicity, I promise. I’m the stars in the sky and the wind in the trees.” 

She opens her mouth to tell him that for a fearsome vigilante, he’s awful cheesy, but she doesn’t get the chance. With the familiar weight of his body around hers and the hum of satisfaction still deep in her bones, she can’t fight off the darkness. She manages one last lungful of Oliver scented air, and then she loses the battle with sleep. 

When she opens her eyes again, the morning sun is shining brightly through her window, and she’s back in bed, utterly alone. The loneliness of it all, the vastness of the large bed, hits her harder after the dream just as she knew it would, clogging her throat with emotion and weighing heavily on her soul. The feeling doesn’t have long to take hold before she is alerted to what must have woken her up, Mia chattering happily to herself through the monitor. 

Grabbing her glasses off the nightstand and one of Oliver’s sweaters off the chair, she forces herself out of bed to retrieve her daughter before happy babbling turns into vicious screams. Yet, despite the threat of an angry infant, Felicity still lingers in the doorway for a moment, watching Mia with misty eyes and then only moving in when Mia spots her. 

"Good morning, Miss Mia," she greets her daughter as she moves to pick her up. 

Mia grins back, snuggling into her chest while Felicity reciprocates the embrace eagerly. She really doesn’t know if she would be able to keep going if it wasn't for Mia and William. She’d like to think so, that she would just because it’s what Oliver would have wanted for her, but on days like today, she’s not confident at all. The sadness lingers with her until Mia places a chubby hand on her cheek in a move eerily reminiscent of the one her father made a few hours ago in the dream, looking at her with the same concern filled blue eyes. 

She forces herself to take a breath then, kissing Mia’s wispy blond hair. She doesn’t have everything she wants; there’s a missing piece to their family that will never be filled, but she had a lot, and she needs to remember that to be thankful for that. 

“I think,” she tells Mia, positioning the child on her hip more comfortably and walking towards the kitchen, “that it’s a donuts for breakfast kind of morning. What do you say we get mama some coffee and then stop for donuts before we drop Will off at school.” 

Mia voices her agreement eagerly as they traverse the rest of the way to the kitchen, only stopping once Felicity has got the coffee brewing to instead shake her hand up and down in her imitation of a wave. 

“Who are you waving at baby?” Felicity asks, looking curiously out the window to see what has garnered her daughter’s attention, and then turns back to her when she sees nothing of interest to her. 

“Dada!” her rambunctious infant chants back at her with all the predictability in the world. 

She still feels this same pang in her heart as she does every time Mia says it, but there is more truth to the smile she gifts her daughter this time as memories of her dream the night before flash across her mind. Oliver looked so happy when that little tidbit of information slipped out. 

“Ah ah,” Felicity tells Mia fondly, thankful that she should have a few more years of this, of Mia believing that her dad could show up anywhere. “But what about mama. Can you wave to mama? Say it with me, mama, ma…” 

Sliding out of the shadows, Oliver allows himself to catch one more glimpse of Felicity still attempting to get Mia to say her name before heading in the opposite direction. He shouldn’t have come; visiting Felicity like this is hard on both of them, but as he thinks of the smile on her face as she talked with Mia, maybe a little less strained than it could have been, and remembers the feel of her skin, silky under his hands, he can’t make himself regret it.


End file.
